


Part 2: Rent with the Screams of Nightmare

by JulisCaesar



Series: At the End of All Things [4]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Gallifrey (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Again, Agender Character, Alien Biology, Alien Character(s), Alien Gender/Sexuality, Bombs, Concussions, Explosions, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Leaning on the Fourth Wall, Mind Rape, Misgendering, Partial Mind Control, Telepathy, Tentacles, Trans Character, alien everything tbh, but i hadn't started reading them when i wrote this, gratuitous use of conlangs, ish, it's doctor who that should be assumed, really strange narration for a bit, references to the entirety of doctor who, there would be a reference to faction paradox
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-18 01:28:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1409947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulisCaesar/pseuds/JulisCaesar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had already fought.</p><p>Martha had threatened the entire Dalek fleet; Donna had absorbed alien energy and blown up the same fleet.</p><p>In an ideal world, they would have gone home and slept for days.</p><p>This wasn't an ideal world, and their troubles were only getting worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You should read Dogma Within Science before reading this section. No other fics or familiarity with the Whoniverse is strictly required, although some knowledge of NuWho would be useful.
> 
> Do not panic because this is part 4 of a series while the title says part 2. Trust me. Things are very loosely connected right now.

Martha was, as such things go, not having a good day.

Reacting to a Dalek invasion, attempting to blow up the Earth, being kidnapped by those same Daleks, fighting her way free, running into the Doctor, meeting other companions—not a _bad_ thing, just unexpected—watching another Doctor be _created_ , destroying the Daleks, and then getting to haul the Earth back home.

If that had been where it ended, she would have fallen into bed and slept for a week.

It _hadn’t_ been where it ended, of course not, things had to be _complicated_.

She had been standing in the TARDIS, surrounded by people and laughter, and then she had blinked once, and her surroundings had changed. Most of the people had come with her – but not all, which had been when she ruled out the possibility of another Weeping Angel.

Most meant her, Rose Tyler, Donna Noble—still acting odd, she'd have to ask about that—Mickey Smith, Jack Harkness and Sarah Jane Smith. It left out the Doctor— _both_ Doctors, she corrected herself—and Jackie Tyler. Which was a little odd. The most competent and the least competent in their group.

The room they were now in was large and occupied by a slender wooden desk with a mismatched chair behind it. The walls were bare, as was the concrete floor. The only sign that a person inhabited the room was a threadbare animal skin draped over the chair. In the centre of the desk was something that resembled a computer, if Martha adjusted for several million years of technology and an alien species.

In the chair sat a man with short cropped dark hair, wearing clothing somewhere between a tunic and a robe in stark panels of black and white. He had both arms on the desk and was leaning forward, eyes scanning them.

Rose was the first to react—unsurprising, from what Martha had seen of her. “Who are you?”

“Nobody you would recognize,” the man said smoothly, leaning back. “You must be curious about why you are here.”

Martha raised both eyebrows, letting someone else take the lead.

Jack looked tense, thumb hooked into his belt. “Maybe so, but why do you want us to ask?”

The man frowned, the action drawing stress lines around his eyes. “I am…limited in what I may tell you. The situation here is not as simple as I would prefer.”

“Here?” Rose asked.

With a slight sigh, the man rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Nowhere you would recognize. Now. You have all met the Daleks?”

“I think so, yes,” Sarah Jane said very dryly.

The man didn’t seem to notice the sarcasm, or didn’t care, because he said, “Good. There’s a war, and we need your help.”

There was a moment of silence. “Who’s we?” Rose asked.

“Gall—” the man started, and then broke off, looking down. “The Gallifreyan government-in-exile.”

 Sarah Jane noticeably stiffened. “Gallifrey? You’re Gallifreyan?”

The man flinched, the motion drawing attention to the stress lines on his face, the deep shadows under his eyes, and his chapped lips. “Yes.”

“Government-in-exile?” Jack said slowly. “We’ve been captured by a—a rebel government?”

Shoulders very stiff, the man looked up. “No.” One of his hands clenched and then very slowly, laid flat on the desk. “Gallifrey has been destroyed. We—this _is_ the only government.”

Martha swallowed, trying to process this. She’d _thought_ Gallifrey had been destroyed. “When are we?”

“You have been withdrawn from your own timeline. To when, precisely, is not something that would have any meaning for you,” the man said flatly.

She had to take a moment to close her eyes and focus, trying to remember what the Doctor had said when they got stuck in 1969 about timelines. “We were brought backwards, weren’t we? This is before our time.”

The man gave her a piercing look. “Yes.”

Mickey opened his mouth but Rose had plainly followed the same thought line and stomped on his foot. “You want us to fight the Daleks for you,” Rose said, ignoring Mickey’s wince.

“Yes,” the man said again. “That is…essentially the plan.”

Sarah Jane nodded shortly, her motions unusually jerky for her. “You brought us back in time because we have experience with Daleks.”

“You were brought back along your timeline because you have experience with the Doctor. We don’t think that precise experience with the Daleks is necessary so much as knowledge of the Doctor.”

Sarah Jane made an odd choked snort. “Well, it’s not the oddest kidnapping I’ve had.”

The man’s mouth twisted in a slight smile. “The plan is simple: we are withdrawing the Doctor’s companions in small groups, combining them to make functional squads, and then dropping them into the war where they can do the most good. You are fortunate; the task for your squad is to recruit the Monans if possible, and otherwise find as much information as you can before returning.”

Sarah Jane swayed on her feet; Martha thought she had gone deathly pale. “And the other groups?”

The man gave her a solemn look. “Only one group has been sent out. One of them…died.” For a second he almost looked sympathetic. “But I am taking actions to ensure that does not happen again.”

“What— _who_?” Sarah Jane asked desperately. “I know some of them—please—”

“According to the records, from even further in the future than you are.” It sounded like it was meant to be consoling. “I am operating under orders.” For an instant he stared at them, apparently waiting for some reaction that never materialized, because then he said, “I am being monitored, and my P— my supervisor is suspicious. If I were to tell you too much more, your return could be jeopardized.”

Sarah Jane said waspishly, “They’ll arrest you for giving us information, but not for telling us that?”

The man wiped his palms down the black panels of his robes. “The situation is complicated.” He looked around their group once more, and then down at the almost-computer on his desk. “Which one of you is Jack Harkness?”

Jack, still silent, stepped forward. There was a harsh set to his face; Martha wondered if he had information she did not, or if he just had a bone-deep dislike of bureaucrats and spies.

“You’ll be departing with a different group, one more suited to your—” The man waved a hand, nose wrinkled slightly — “condition.”

There was a beat of silence. “You _are_ a Time Lord,” Jack said finally. “My ‘condition’.” Martha could hear the air quotes. “My immortality, more like.”

Swiping his hand over the computer, the Time Lord sighed. “If you must. Regardless, you are not suited to negotiate with the Monan Host.”

“The Monan Host,” Donna echoed. Martha looked at her, worried. She had been uncharacteristically quiet since they arrived, and even now her voice sounded distracted.

The man took her response as a question. “A—well, an entity, almost, of aliens who have a unique system of time travel unaffiliated with our own. Since, at one level or another, even the Dalek Time Controller relies on Gallifrey, controlling the Monan Host is vital to this war.”

“Monan Host,” Donna repeated again. "Monan, Mondan, Mondus, Mono, Magno, Magnus, Magma, Mag—” She cut herself off, shaking and staring at the Time Lord. “You're in my head!” she shrieked.

He bolted out of his chair, leaning on the desk. “Miss Noble,” he started, almost sounding worried.

Donna, completely pale, stared at him; then her eyes rolled back in her head and she toppled over.

The man came around the desk in a rush, shoving Rose out of the way. “Has she always been telepathic?” he asked briskly.

Martha shook her head, kneeling down beside him. “If she was, we never knew.”

He hissed lowly, taking off a thin pair of gloves. “Are you her friend?”

She stared at him, confused. “Does this matter?”

“Yes,” he snapped, bare hand outstretched. “I would _like_ to save her life, if for no other reason than preserving my own. Now. Will you extend consent?”

Martha frowned, trying to connect this to anything else. “For what?”

His eyes darted between her and Donna's shivering body. “In times of need,” he muttered, and touched his fingers to Donna's forehead. Martha scooted back, trying to piece things together. The TARDIS books had spoken a lot about history and very little about physiology, to her annoyance – and to their current detriment. After a long moment, the Time Lord stood, turning back to his desk, and pressed a button on his computer unit. “Braxiatel, you’re needed.”

A flickering static sound came from the computer, and then a male voice. “My dear Coordinator, I have—”

“One of your brother’s precious humans is somewhat more than,” he snapped, “and is currently unconscious on my office floor. And I am _not_ the Coordinator.”

There was a long pause. “On my way." The link crackled for another moment and then dropped into silence once more.

The Time Lord straightened, turning back to face them. “Clear space.”

Rose and Mickey backed away, unconsciously turning towards each other. Sarah Jane did not. “What happened to her?”

“I'm not entirely sure,” the Time Lord said flatly, eyes fixed on the door.

Sarah Jane clearly did not buy this. “You're not entirely sure,” she repeated, each word bitten out. “And what does that mean?”

The door swung open, and another man entered, this one looking more bureaucratic than humanly possible—except, Martha quickly reminded herself, he probably wasn’t human, particularly given those scarlet robes. “Narvin, what happened?”

The first man—Narvin, apparently—looked at the new one, sighing. “I was explaining the situation, she repeated a number of words and concepts I do not think she could have known, and then fainted. Her mind is full of thoughts too powerful for it, they are going to kill her if we cannot stop them.”

The other man, who was almost certainly Braxiatel, knelt beside Donna. “That complicates matters.”

“No comment on my invasion of her mind?” Narvin asked acerbically, looking as if he had expected one.

Rose sputtered. “Invasion of her _mind_?”

The Time Lords ignored her. Braxiatel put his hands—ungloved—on Donna’s face, gently touching along her sinuses, but he looked quickly up at Narvin. “Surely you cannot be unaware of all that I have done since the Axis. And all that I did before, for that matter. After all, you _were_ CIA Coordinator.”

Narvin momentarily flinched, and then leaned forward again. “I am, however, aware of your _ailment_. How do you expect to make any progress with your mind—”

“Is there anyone here who can consent?” Braxiatel said, overriding the end of Narvin’s sentence.

“To what?” Sarah Jane asked, voice worried.

The look on Narvin’s face could have been best described as a mix of schadenfreude and relief, if he had been human enough to even have those concepts applied to him. “You picked up a relative. He was in group one.” In an undertone that Martha probably wasn’t supposed to hear, he added, “I _told_ you keeping them here was a good idea.”

Braxiatel sat back, reaching into one pocket. “I doubt we have the time.” Pulling out a small grey box, he flicked a switch on it. “Since you could not determine what is wrong, this should be able to simplify matters enough to produce a rudimentary diagnosis.” He set the box on Donna’s forehead.

“Starting up,” a slightly tinny voice said, coming from the box. “Recovering stored memory—twenty two per cent. Sixty nine per cent. Three per cent. Recovering stored memory—complete. Incoming emotions: fear. Anger. Panic. Tentacles. Desperation. Error. Fear. Error. Confusion. Error! Error! _Error!_ ” After a second of loud crackling noises, the box fell silent, smoke wafting gently from one corner.

The humans, for lack of a better term, jumped backward. “What the _hell_?” Jack scrabbled at his belt for a gun Martha was pretty sure he didn’t have on him.

The Time Lords _continued_ ignoring them. Narvin looked at it. “You broke it. How were you planning to explain this to the President?”

Braxiatel’s probably-manicured eyebrows drew in. “I was planning to replace it unobtrusively.”

“Go behind her back, you mean. _Again._ ”

“I thought we were agreed on this.” Braxiatel’s face was so utterly emotionless that his tone of voice was all the more terrifying. “She has been acting—odd. This is the best way to fulfil her orders and preserve the companions’—”

Narvin frowned. “You don’t care about aliens.”

Braxiatel plucked the box from Donna’s head and returned it to his pocket. “Not on the whole. I do, however, care about what my President will think when she finds out one of her aliens is dead already.”

“You already told her,” Narvin said slowly. “I was there.”

“And wasn’t her grief awe-inspiring? No? Because there was no grief. Don’t you find that odd? Our ever emotional Lady President, calmly taking the news that her plans had led to a death? I certainly do.”

After one last glare, Narvin glanced away. “I’m sure you have ideas.”

“I do, yes. You need to block off any invasive aspects of her mind.” Braxiatel stood up, straightening his robes. “They cannot be removed without damaging her further, but a simple block should solve it.” The matter of consent seemed to have been abruptly dropped; Martha thought because the situation was apparently urgent enough that saving a life came first.

Narvin nodded and rested the tips of his fingers lightly on Donna’s head.

Braxiatel turned to face the rest of them. “While he is working, I wonder if I might impose on you to tell me what exactly happened to Miss Noble.”

Rose shook her head. “We were—we were on the Crucible, and we’d been captured, but Donna hadn’t left the TARDIS, and the Daleks dropped it into the—they called it the core of their ship. And then, the Daleks talked a bunch: they threatened us, said—”

“Time is not exactly abundant, Miss Tyler,” Braxiatel said, somehow looking long-suffering without appearing to change his expression at all. “If you could limit your account to what happened to Miss _Noble_.”

Rose flushed, scowling. “The TARDIS came back an’ another Doctor came out of it—”

“A different one?” Braxiatel interrupted again. “What did he look like?”

Shaking her head, Rose said, “Jus’ the same, but with a blue suit instead of a brown one. Anyway, and then the Daleks zapped ‘im, so Donna ran out and they zapped her and then—I don’ think you care about this bit.”

Braxiatel pinched the bridge of his nose. “Two of the same regeneration in the same time. If anyone could do it, it _would_ be him. Was Miss Noble acting any different after she ran out of the—TARDIS?”

Rose nodded. “She could keep up with the Doctor when he talked. And she sounded like him, too. He acted surprised.”

“Did he offer any sort of an explanation?”

Martha cleared her throat, catching Braxiatel’s attention. “He called it a two way biological metacrisis.”

Braxiatel blinked once. Martha would have thought it indicative of an emotion, except that she was quickly starting to think that he didn’t _have_ any. “Ah. Another regeneration gone, I suppose.” He turned around again. “Narvin.”

The other Time Lord looked up, frowning, hands still touching Donna.

“The invasive intelligence was once part of the Doctor.”

Narvin tensed, and then nodded.

“What _is_ a two way biological metacrisis?” Martha asked.

Turning back to her, Braxiatel said, “A metacrisis is when a regeneration goes wrong. It is a biological metacrisis when the regeneration goes wrong in such a way as to leave some biological receptacle containing the particles that power regeneration. When that regeneration energy not only repairs the receptacle, but washes into another being, that is a two way biological metacrisis.”

Behind him, Donna gasped, opening her eyes. “What the _hell_ just happened?”

“You very nearly died,” Narvin said bluntly.

Braxiatel made a choked-off coughing noise.

Donna snarled at him and sat upright, promptly falling over. Martha ran over and helped her sit up, hands on her shoulders.

Narvin had the good grace to look abashed. “You will be unstable. It will pass.”

“Time is limited,” Braxiatel put in. “If we are to have _any_ hope of keeping this away from her, you have to send them off soon.”

“Someone care to explain?” Rose said sharply.

Narvin glanced at her. “No.” He returned behind his desk, pulling open a drawer. Setting five pistols on the desk, he looked up at them. “These have a limited power pack but will take down a Dalek in one shot. Use them sparingly. Your task is not to kill Daleks. You are needed to convince the Monan Host to ally with us, rather than the Daleks. _Try_ not to make the situation worse than it already is. Miss Smith.” He opened another drawer. “A Time Ring. This button activates it. It will drop you in your pre-assigned quarters; when pressed again, it will return you here. This should contain all the information.” He paced a golden bracelet and a small packet next to the pistols.

“She doesn’t want them to have weapons.” Braxiatel clasped his hands behind his back, looking at Narvin.

The Time Lord sighed. “The degree to which we are _already_ disobeying her is, frankly, terrifying. Giving them the means to survive is hardly any worse.” Pressing a button on his watch, he flickered out of sight.

Braxiatel looked down briefly. “Good luck,” he told the room at large. “Mr Harkness, with me.” With that, he left the room.

Jack gave him a dirty look, saluted Sarah Jane, blew Rose a kiss, and followed.

“That was abrupt,” Martha said dryly.

Mickey snorted, and started passing the pistols around.

Sarah Jane groaned. “Donna, do you know what we’re doing?”

“Yes,” Donna said, standing up, legs only wobbling a bit. She picked up the Time Ring, spun it once and handed it to Sarah Jane. “We’re going to handle a complex interspecies negotiation with very little background because no one has the time to give it to us.”

Mickey whistled lowly. “Sounds fun.”

Sarah Jane shook her head, putting the ring on. “Keep us up to date, Donna.” With that, she pushed the button.

The world vanished.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heed the warnings. Translations provided at the end.

Donna _screamed_ as the world stretched around her, too many voices in her head, too much information, too much too _much too much!_

Her knees cracked against the ground and she yovhas1 they didn’t care because they were hurting there was knowledge ripping through their mind the patch by the Time Lady hadn’t held right and they knew _everything_ —

Something touched them and they lashed out. A body hit the floor near them and another mind shouted in pain and surprise but they were busy fighting themselves Donna Doctor Doctor Donna Donna Doctor _Them_ Doctor Donna –

Someone was making a strange keening noise and after 2.34 seconds (4.02 nanospans) they realized it was them and turned off their vocal cords. There was a brief moment (1.32 nanospans) when a few other vital systems were turned off as well but they managed to fix that despite not having the nerve cluster— _the one they made they should have it they put the thing in_ —and having to approximate in the motor cortex instead.

_Doctor Donna Them Donna Doctor Them ThEm tHEM THEM THEM THEM THEM_

“What’s wrong with her?”

They weren’t a _her_ but they weren’t sure what they were. Alive, possibly, but that seemed to be unclear at the moment.

“Donna? Can you hear me?”

_DONNA THEM THEM THEM THEM Doctor DoNNA_

“Maybe?” they said, unsure of most things. What did their body look like? Who were they? Was _they_ singular or plural?

_THEM THEM THem Donna Doctor Donna Donna DONNA_

“Well that’s a good place to start.”

Someone’s memories said that was Martha, but someone’s memories were also sure they should have tentacles. Someone’s memories were occupied with very in depth thoughts on eleven dimensional calculus and couldn’t be reached for comment.

They moved their eyes. The room appeared to be large and open, with a set of windows along one wall, a small door in the opposite one, and five bed-shaped things at apparently random locations.

There were four Gallifreyan shaped beings also in the room, one bent very close to them. “Donna? What’s wrong? Can you tell me anything?”

It took a moment but they managed to frown, which one set of memories said was the correct facial expression for confusion. “Not Donna,” they said, mouth awkward, pronouns more awkward—she? They? Yovhas1? One voice within a set of memories said yodjas2, but it was shouted down by the rest who were just as confused. “Someone—some _thing_ else. I we think.”

Why were words so _limiting_? There were things they wanted to say, things some of them, part of them, wanted to say but the language they were forced into speaking didn’t have the words for any of them.

“She’s possessed,” someone burst out.

“Or she’s not Donna at all,” another said. “The Time Lords did something to her.”

“Hello,” they said, only sort of sure how to work the muscles in their neck. “We are Donna. We think.”

_DONNA Doctor Them_

There was a pause. “What does that – what does that even _mean_?” a flower person—no not a _flower_ but flower-like why were there memories with flowers _someone’s mind was wrong it was limited it was different_ —asked.

They contracted muscles to make a smile because all of the memories agreed that smiles were nice. “Yes.”

“It’s okay,” someone else said. “We can make this work. Martha, can you check the door? See if anyone’s nearby. Mickey, search the room. Rose—anything else you think necessary. I’ll take care of Donna.”

Looking up and very nearly losing control of their neck muscles entirely, they frowned again. “Not Donna.”

The almost Gallifreyan—almost _new_ Gallifreyan, one set of memories pointed out with a grimace—knelt in front of them. “Right. Not Donna. Is there a name you’d prefer to use?”

There were a lot of answers in their head. One set of memories overrode that, their thoughts excited. “Sarah Jane Smith!”

“That’s me,” the almost Gallifreyan said. “ _Okay_. So you remember me.”

“I’ll always remember you,” they said, shifting things to try to look friendly, only their memories didn’t agree on what friendly looked like, or even if they wanted to be friendly. “My Sarah Jane.”

Sarah Jane made a noise that might have been surprise and might have been something else. “Doctor? Are you—are you the Doctor?”

They made a face. They were very good at making faces, mostly because they seemed to always have had one. Or several. Occasionally several. “No.”

“Is the Doctor in there?” Sarah Jane asked quietly—more quietly than before, which some of the memories seemed to think warranted the use of the adverb.

This was a very good question that demanded much thought. After half a microspan, they said, “Maybe.”

Sarah Jane let loose an exhalation of air, which one set of memories insisted be called a sigh. “Is there _anything_ you can tell me?”

“Yes,” they said, head falling to one side when they lost track of the neck muscles again.

“What is it?”

They smiled, a few of the memories convinced the adverb brightly was needed here. “The floor is cold.” Cold meaning uncomfortable, not cold in the scientific sense, whatever that was. Their memories disagreed. They moved an arm, trying to grab onto what might have been Sarah Jane’s shoulder, except that one set of memories was _still_ stuck on tentacles, and another was convinced they should be seeing more colours than they were. Their hand opened and closed, feeling nothing but air. The air felt very nice though, and they thought about feeling it for a while longer.

With another exhale that might be a sigh if they knew what a sigh was, precisely, Sarah Jane touched their hand. “I just need a name for you.”

It took 2.12 nanospans for them to work the correct muscles for them to look at her. Their eyes felt like they should be crinkling around the edges. “Snail,” parts of two sets of memories said at once.

 “Ah,” Sarah Jane said. “If that works for you.”

The being now called Snail managed to straighten their neck. “Yes.” They experimented with leg muscles, eventually deciding that they needed another source of stability first, and tightened their grasp on Sarah Jane’s hand.

“I don’t think you’re ready to get up.”

They discovered that they could wrinkle their nose, and did so. “Need to help.”

“You _need_ help, certainly,” Sarah Jane said, and they could feel her amusement. “Just sit down, and I’ll let you know—”

They contracted the muscles in their right thigh and nearly screamed. Relaxing the muscles on the front of their thigh, they carefully contracted the ones in the back. Shifting weight, they managed to mostly stand, remaining in a low crouch and wobbling slightly. “Never give up,” they said.

Sarah Jane made that exasperated sigh noise again. “Which is all very well and good, but there is something very wrong with you, and you need to help yourself first. Whoever _you_ are.”

“Snail,” they said again, because they liked the word.

“Sarah Jane?” someone else said. “Something for you to look at.”

Sarah Jane looked at them. “If I leave you here, will you stay put?”

They made an expression with their face. “Yes,” they said. Only one of their memory sets had any problems with lying.

The almost Gallifreyan—two of their memory sets said human in unison—frowned, but stood and walked away.

Tilting their head, they tried to organize walking. It was more difficult than it looked. Muscles had to contract and relax in order, and not whenever they thought of it. They fell once, and pain exploded over knees that they thought might already be bruised. Pain was an interesting phenomena when there was more than one of them experiencing it, and they didn’t want to repeat the experience.

It took them a full microspan to find the door. Another almost Gallifreyan was there, leaning against the wall. “Donna—I don’t think it’s—”

“Not Donna,” they said, eyes mostly focused on the door. “Snail.” The door was wrong, it was off, there was something that twitched at the edges of their eyes and they _didn’t know what_.

The almost Gallifreyan straightened, bringing a hand to their waist. There might have been something there but they ignored the almost Gallifreyan creature, turning to the door again.

They grabbed for the handle, mostly hitting it, and managed to yank it open.

“ _Donna_ , it’s not safe-!” the creature shouted.

They ignored the outburst, stepping forward and through the door. The corridor carried the same taste sight of wrongness, making them stick out their tongue to try to get it off.

“One is not supposed to leave one’s room until the meetings,” another almost Gallifreyan shrieked.

They shrieked back, a wordless noiseless mental blast, the telepathic ripples coming off the almost Gallifreyan hitting their minds with a shock.

The almost Gallifreyan moved, making a noise that might have indicated a question.

They stumbled forward and managed to get a hand on the almost Gallifreyan’s skin. Time jerked. The world screamed.

Donna opened her eyes.

The—the alien in front of her was shorter than her, with a smooth noseless face and pale blue-tinged skin. It tilted its head. “One is not supposed to leave one’s room!”

She circled a hand in its direction. “Are you—are you a Monan?”

“One is a member of the Monan Host, yes. And one should be in one’s room!” The alien stepped forward, small frills along its jaw flaring.

Donna frowned. “You keep going on about that. Why? Are we prisoners here?”

The alien narrowed its eyes. “One is not a prisoner, one is a respected diplomatic guest. This one’s orders are that one should stay in one’s room.”

“Yeah, well,” Donna began, drawing herself up.

Martha grabbed her elbow. “I’m sorry, sir, she’s been a little out of it. _Donna_.”

Donna turned to look at her, giving Martha the leverage she obviously needed to shove her back into the room. The door closed behind them.

“What the _hell_ is going on?” Martha spat once it closed. “We’re on a strange planet and you decide to wander off-?”

Slumping against the wall, Donna sighed. “I don’t— I don’t know. One sec I was in that office with you all and the—brat in the robes, and now I’m—oh.” The memories exploded in her mind, and she closed her eyes, trying not to swear.

Lights flashed in the back of her mind and she tried to close her eyes again, not succeeding. When they cleared, she was standing in a small room with plain beige walls and carpeting. Frowning, she closed her eyes and reopened them.

Martha was staring at her. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m—fine.” Donna shut her eyes again, just to check.

There was another flash of lights and then the room returned, the new room, the one she and Martha definitely were not standing in.

“Just leave them shut,” someone snapped. “Every time you reopen them, I’ve got to go reconstruct this.”

She looked around. The room was completely bare of furniture, doors or windows. Its only inhabitants were two people. One was leaning quietly in a corner, and the other—

She took a swing at the skinny pinstriped nutcase, angry and terrified and upset.

The Doctor sighed, dodging. “Let’s—not.”

Donna held back, glaring at him. “Alright, what’s going on, spaceman?”

The figure in the corner snorted.

“Bit of a—” The Doctor gestured vaguely, avoiding eye contact. “Bit of a long story.”

She very nearly grabbed his tie, clenching her hands instead. “Yeah, well, I’ve had it up to here with people not telling me what’s going on, so I want an explanation _now_.”

The other stepped out of the corner, moving at a slow walk. “I’m sure the _Doctor_ will be thrilled to elaborate.”

Donna stared at—it?—for a second, unsure how to respond.

The figure was nearly as tall as the Doctor, with a thin, androgynous face, black hair that hung to its jawline, and sharp cheekbones, wearing a long, charcoal grey jacket that seemed to be made entirely out of curved hems over lighter grey robes. It was almost completely human, except for the four pairs of black tentacles that spiralled out of its back, coiling aimlessly in the air.

“Why are you even here?” the Doctor snapped, bristling.

The figure raised an eyebrow delicately. “Because I was in your head. And since I was in your head, now I’m in hers,” it said in a quiet, upper-class accent.

Donna frowned. “We’re in my _head_?”

“Oh, you really haven’t _had_ an explanation, have you?” The other looked at her, face blank. “They always have been very bad at explaining things.”

The Doctor turned away slightly. “Shut up.”

Completely ignoring him, it stared straight in her eyes, unwavering. “There was an accident,” it said, with a slight hand wave. “To keep a long story very, very short, some of the Doctor’s bio-data ended up inside you, along with enough artron energy to do some very unpleasant things to your brain had they been allowed to go through. Fortunately for you—and by extent, us— _celthoni_3 managed to redirect its force.” It paused, smirking. “Your brain is no longer human.”

Donna gaped at it, not sure where to begin. After a moment, she shook her head, choosing to ignore the thing with tentacles. “What happened? I was—normal, well normal except I had a lot of memories and kept sounding like that one,” she waved at the Doctor, “and then, it felt like someone was rearranging my brain, said he was called Narvin, anyway he fixed it, he used the regeneration energy to restructure my brain to survive it. Except that then the trip through the vortex left me—not me,” she said, voice faltering. Her memories had returned, more or less, but there was a terrifying period between leaving the Collection and staring at—at the Monan, she realized—where she seemed almost not to exist. “The Monan,” she said, looking at the Doctor. “Why did that help?”

The Doctor scuffed one foot against the floor. “Wasn’t me.”

“ _I_ put us back together,” the other drawled, “which you, Theta Sigma, should have remembered.”

Wincing, the Doctor glanced away.

Tentacles snaking along its arms, coiling in on its chest, it turned flat blank eyes on her. “The impact of the Time Vortex was unexpected.” One tentacle slipped over its shoulder, the tip curling in the air. “I was content to sleep until it hit me. Unfortunately for you, the same happened to that one.” A different tentacle poked vaguely at the Doctor. “The resulting confusion left our identities—compromised.” It kept its eyes fixed on hers, pupils slightly too large for comfort. “When we touched the Monan, I was able to remember what one identity should look like, and—separated us.”

“I’m impressed,” the Doctor said dryly.

Rolling its eyes, it turned to face the Doctor, tentacles forming a rough halo around it. “At what? That I managed to accomplish something I set out to do? Yes, _astonishing_ isn’t it?”

The Doctor visibly bristled. “I _have_ accomplished things.”

“You do seem to have a thing for genocide, don’t you?”

Jerking his chin up, the Doctor glared at the other. “I _don’t_ kill.”

It gave him the same blank stare it had been delivering to Donna. “Hypocrite.”

“Oh, and what was the Hand, then? What was the point of that?” the Doctor spat, shoulders tense.

Tentacles fanned out, making Donna step backwards. “The point was—the point was to make the universe better.”

Running a hand through his hair, the Doctor sighed. “Ten _thousand_ spans, you’d think one of us would have remembered we share that, at least.”

Lowering its tentacles, it sighed as well, the sound identical to the Doctor’s. “Apparently, you received my altruism as well.”

“Received?” Donna asked quickly. “What are you, his father?”

It stared at her, blinking slowly. Its lips curled slightly, something that could have been amusement showing in the wrinkles around its eyes. “No,” it said flatly. “I am not.”

“Sort of,” the Doctor protested. “Closer than you would think!”

It jerked its head in an odd, inhuman fashion. “You said donors were like ‘parents’.” Its tentacles sketched air quotes around the last word. “You _said_ ,” it hissed lowly. “After that _debacle_ with your Loomling—”

The Doctor straightened. “It sorted itself out!”

“That debacle,” it repeated, “you _said_ donors were like lesser species’ parents. Now you take that back?”

“I said _sort of_!” the Doctor shouted. “I’m you but with extra, I think that’s how parents work.”

Donna tilted her head. “Are you saying that you don’t know what parents are?”

The Doctor jumped, apparently surprised that she had interjected. “No. Well, a little bit, but it’s basically just genetics, isn’t it? DNA from everyone involved, mix it together, put it in someone, wait nine months, voila baby.” He stared at her, giving her a pleading look. “Isn’t that how it works?”

Donna wasn’t sure whether to yell at him or laugh. “No,” she said quietly, “that’s really not how it works.”

“The point being,” the other one snapped, “I am not their parent. Whatever that is. I’m a large part of their psyche, but I am _certainly_ not one of their donors.”

The Doctor glanced away. “Look, just because you’re miffed that we’re in here –”

“I am not ‘miffed that we’re in here’,” it echoed, showing an uncanny resemblance to the Doctor at that moment. “I am _furious_ that you somehow managed to muck up your regenerations _again_. And I _invented_ them, one would _think_ —”

Snorting, the Doctor stepped towards it. “ _You_ invented them. Not me.”

The other rolled its eyes. “You have my memories, I _thought_ that was the point of this.”

The Doctor groaned. “And I didn’t muck it up, it worked precisely as planned!”

“I _shudder_ to think what your plan is, given that we’ve ended up inside your pet’s head!” Its tentacles rose, the top pair reaching over its shoulders and moving towards the Doctor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. yovhas: Third person singular pronoun for a chronarch (a Gallifreyan who could be a Time Lord but isn’t yet).↩ 2\. yodjas: Third person singular pronoun for a telepathic non-Gallifreyan↩ 3\. celthoni: celthi is a very rude word for a Time Lord, celthoni means "one of the Time Lords".↩


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Logistics notes: The next section, _A Desolation Called Peace_ is being delayed by at least one month, maybe two. It isn't even started yet, so look for the first chapter either at the beginning of June or beginning of July. Translations for the Gallifreyan are down at the bottom. I probably caught all of them this time, but drop me a message if I missed one.

_The Doctor glanced away. “Look, just because you’re miffed that we’re in here –”_

_“I am not ‘miffed that we’re in here’,” it echoed, showing an uncanny resemblance to the Doctor at that moment. “I am_ furious _that you somehow managed to muck up your regenerations_ again. _And I_ invented _them, one would_ think—”

 _Snorting, the Doctor stepped towards it._ “You _invented them. Not me.”_

 _The other rolled its eyes. “You have my memories, I_ thought _that was the point of this.”_

_The Doctor groaned. “And I didn’t muck it up, it worked precisely as planned!”_

_“I_ shudder _to think what your plan is, given that we’ve ended up inside your pet’s head!” Its tentacles rose, the top pair reaching over its shoulders and moving towards the Doctor._

* * *

Donna took a step back, away from the tentacles. “I’m not his pet!”

The Doctor, surprisingly, looked smug. “ _Echoes_ of us. Not actually us. We just think we are.”

It visibly deflated, tentacles tucking behind its back. “Oh,” it said, very quietly. “Right.”

“Someone care to explain?” Donna demanded. The argument had been like watching rugby players crash into each other, but now that was done, presumably they were here—wherever _here_ was—for a reason.

The Doctor sighed. “My people didn’t reproduce like yours do.”

Donna snorted. “I’d gathered.”

“We had devices called Looms,” he said, ignoring her comment.

“Ad _muyeioreivas_ ,” the other corrected. “ _Corsoyi_ , remember? _Aʃsozej_ again; we're in the War1 .” The room rippled every time it said one of those strange, not English but worryingly familiar words.

The Doctor ignored that too. “Which—well, which take genetic material from donors—parents to you—mix it together, and reform it with information from the Matrix.”

Donna raised her eyebrows. “The Matrix?”

He waved a hand. “Giant—computer—thingamabob. Sort of. And when a Gallifreyan dies, well, they get put into the Matrix. So Loomlings come with bits of their donors’ personalities and bits of the Matrix, and it all forms into a new personality.” He paused, presumably waiting for a response.

Donna nodded. “Sure,” she said, really not clear at all what he was talking about.

“Well, when I was being Loomed, instead of bits of a lot of personalities, I got them.” He jabbed a finger at the other one. “Because of the way data is sorted and transformed into biological coding—don’t ask—they manifested as a separate personality.”

“Congrats,” it— _they_ , Donna corrected firmly—drawled. “You almost managed to explain it.”

Donna frowned, ignoring them. “So they’re inside your head—but you’re inside _my_ head—is there another them inside your head? Is it like Russian Stacking Dolls?”

“No,” the Doctor said quickly. “No, no, no. Well yes, but no. They’re a separate part of me, one that got further split off when we were copied over into you. _I_ , meanwhile, have another them in my head, plus all of my past regenerations.”

The other gave the Doctor a glance that might have been considering, except that Donna was no longer sure they had any basis for judging their emotions. “I take it you’re not all manifesting in order to keep her calm.”

The Doctor nodded. “As are you.”

“Manifesting?” Donna asked with the abrupt sense that she was going to regret this very quickly.

“You first?” the tentacled one said, jerking their head.

The Doctor sighed. “Of course.” He closed his eyes, and then the room shifted. When Donna could focus again, there were eleven people standing where he had been: ten funnily dressed men, and another tentacled person, who stared at their mirror image.

The original one with tentacles jabbed at a shimmery patch in the air. “Fluke?”

“ _Secelzur_2 ,” the Doctor— _her_ Doctor, she supposed, since they were all supposed to be _the_ Doctor—said wearily. “During the War the last time,” he added, looking at Donna. “My eighth incarnation messed it up the first few times round, ended up regenerating too early and into the wrong thing. Caused a paradox that me and my eleventh self got involved in, and then the next time my eighth self fixed it.”

“Ah,” both tentacled ones said in unison. “After I left?”

The Doctor sighed. “Yes.”

Donna swallowed. “Could you—could you go away now? I think I preferred the one.”

Smiling, the Doctor nodded. The room shifted again, and then just her Doctor stood there, hands in pockets. “Your turn.”

Tentacles waving, they smirked. “My pleasure.” The room shivered in that way it did when the spoken Gallifreyan wasn’t being translated, except more and stranger, nothing so solid as to be physical, more a shudder across her thoughts, and they _exploded._ Space collapsed into a black formless area, edges blurred towards insanity, in shape more like sheer terror than anything else, somehow giving the impression of wings and eyes.

Donna nearly screamed, flinching instinctively away from the pulsing area.

The other quickly reappeared, still smirking. “There _is_ a reason I chose this form. Fear is not always desirable.”

“Tentacles?” the Doctor asked.

They shrugged, the motion peculiarly boneless. “I like them.”

Shivering, Donna looked between the two. “So you’re in my head.”

“Yes,” the Doctor said, with an enthusiastic nod.

“Right now, _I’m_ in my head,” Donna pointed out, eyebrows drawn in. “Right?”

Tentacles shifted, somewhat awkwardly. “Yes. Inside an area of my control, and outside time completely, but yes. Essentially.”

Donna stared at the Doctor. “So what happens when I—ah—open my eyes?” That was odd—she hadn’t once blinked.

The Doctor shrugged. “This vanishes, we remain. Voices in your head, so to speak.”

“That’s comforting,” the other said, tentacles moving almost sarcastically.

The Doctor rubbed at the back of his neck. “Well it’s better than how you introduced yourself to _me_.”

The tentacles drooped. “I _thought_ since you’d grown up with me, you’d take it well!”

“Yes, I thought you were _me_! Not someone else hitching a ride in my head,” the Doctor shouted.

“I _am_ you,” they grumbled. “I just happen to be cognitively independent.”

Donna sighed. “So I _can_ open my eyes? We’re done here?”

The other two exchanged glances. “Yes,” they said in eerie unison. “But, ah,” the Doctor continued, “we’ll be giving advice. You have some extra memories—”

“Some,” the other said, under their breath.

“And we’ll be here to help you with them,” the Doctor said, glaring at the other.

Donna frowned at the one with tentacles. “What am I even supposed to call you?”

They raised an eyebrow slightly, expression otherwise blank. “You’ve been using the Other quite a bit. I think that will work well enough, don’t you?”

With that, the room vanished. Donna blinked and opened her eyes.

“Seriously, Donna,” Martha was saying, still bent down in front of her. “Are you alright?”

Donna swallowed, nodding. “Yeah. I’m fine. Course I’m all right.”

* * *

 

They were left in the room for hours. Donna could now give a more precise definition, the Doctor sporadically getting bored and telling her precisely how long it had been since they arrived and apparently she went crazy, but she didn’t bother to—mostly, to be completely honest, because it annoyed the Doctor.

Sarah Jane circulated, talking to all of them. Donna explained most of it to her, managing not to come off as too insane. Rose slumped on a bed and stared at the ceiling, eventually joined by Mickey, who sat a little too close for friendship and not close enough for dating. Martha fiddled with her staser again and again, never shooting it, just disassembling and reassembling it, checking parts and how they went together. And Donna sat against a wall, trying to get a grasp on her new Greek Chorus.

After the initial exposition, the Other remained quiet, but the Doctor sporadically got bored and started talking. He was much, _much_ more communicative inside her head than in real life, although she wasn’t sure why.

Finally the door swung open, revealing another of the Monans—or possibly the same one, Donna wasn’t completely sure. “One requests that these ones come to the negotiations now.”

 _They left us in there as a show of power_ , the Doctor put in as Donna began to follow Sarah Jane out the door. _Demonstrating that they can yank us around_.

 _Us_? the Other said snidely, neither expecting nor receiving a response.

They were led down a series of winding corridors to a large meeting room with a long table. There were five Monans already there, and they quickly seated themselves opposite the aliens – _Monans_ , the Doctor corrected. _You’re the aliens to them_.

_I don’t care about being politically correct, I care about keeping things straight. And keeping things straight means we’re humans—_

_You’re humans._

_Fine, whatever. We’re humans,_ she repeated _, and the Monans are aliens_.

There was a long pause from inside her head. _Fine_ , the Doctor said finally, sounding disgruntled.

Negotiations began slowly. The Monans wanted to remain neutral and not give up any of their secrets. The Time Lords, as shown in the sheaf of paper Sarah Jane had, wanted the Monans on their side along with complete access to their technology. Obviously there were disagreements.

Donna found herself in the new position of being valuable to the point where she was essential. Via the Doctor—mostly—she had more information on the Monans than anyone else, and frequently ended up correcting one or both side as to what the Host actually had.

She finally leaned back, letting Sarah Jane take the lead on weapons treaties, and looked at Rose. “There’s something wrong here.”

Rose looked around. “I don’t see anything.”

Donna sighed. “It’s nothing I can put my finger on, just – wrong.”

“You sound a bit like him,” Rose said quietly. “I thought the Gallifreyan fixed that.”

 _Fixed?_ Fixed _? There was nothing to_ fix _._

Donna ignored him. “Yes, but I still have the information. I’m just able to live with it.”

Rose frowned. “Oh. Do you know what he’d be doing? If he were here?”

 _I wouldn’t_ be _here._

Donna continued ignoring him. “No,” she lied. “Sorry.”

“’S fine,” Rose said. “I just—miss him. Sometimes.”

The Doctor was silent.

“There’s something wrong here,” Sarah Jane whispered, leaning in.

Donna looked at her, nodding. “Not sure what, though.”

Sarah Jane smiled. “I am. See that Monan, second from the left? Hasn’t talked once. Everyone else has—” Mickey was currently expounding on interstellar transport, an area Donna highly doubted he had any real knowledge in—“But not that one. Wonder why.”

“A plant?” Rose asked.

The Doctor provided memories of the Krynoids. Donna mentally kicked him. “Maybe,” she said aloud. “From who?”

“Another good question,” Sarah Jane said, leaning forward. “Representative, our lives are not as long as yours and I would appreciate it if we tried to hurry things along.”

One of the Monans—Donna couldn’t tell them apart, although the Doctor could—flashed a slightly darker shade of blue. “One may attempt to accommodate one’s guests, yes. Does one agree with one’s subordinates about the use of TARDISes for evacuation of the Monan homeworld?”

Sarah Jane frowned, throwing herself back into the discussion.

Donna leaned back in her chair, and waited. It didn’t take long.

 _There’s something wrong here_ , the Other said quietly, their mental voice softer, rounder, and bitterer than the Doctor’s. _Something very, very wrong_.

She snorted mentally. Hours of practice had made her used to separating mental and physical. _Thanks for that. We already got that far on our own._

They did the mental equivalent of waving a tentacle, which Donna had worked out meant they were essentially sticking their tongue out. _More than that a delegate isn’t speaking. That’s nothing new, the Monan’s usually spy on each other as much as us. No, just look and it should stand out._

Donna looked. Nothing stood out.

The Other hissed unpleasantly, the sensation much like sandpaper on her thoughts. _Not like that, with your— you’re not time sensitive._

 _Nope_ , Donna told them.

They sighed, poking the Doctor. _You explain it. I’ve done my share of exposition for the day._

The Doctor flared in her mind, tinged with annoyance. _That’s not how it works!_

 _Too bad_ , the Other mumbled, retreating.

Sighing, the Doctor settled in behind her eyes, pulling glasses out of thin air. _We’re both time sensitive—it’s another sense for us—_ well _, senses. And even though you’re not, we’re still capable of sensing time pass and viewing timelines. It’s integral to us, you can’t remove it without removing our identity. Meanwhile, you know everything we do but you don’t have the instincts or the physical capability to do most of it. So if you’ll just let me take a look—_

Donna suffered the peculiar feeling of being shoved aside in her own head. The Doctor was fairly gentle about it, but there was no doubt that he was the one controlling her eye movements or the way her mouth opened slightly. _What’s that for?_

 _If you don’t_ have _the sensory systems,_ the Doctor grumbled, _I have to approximate them. Got it!_ He disengaged, returning control to her. _Now close your eyes and look._

Mentally rolling her eyes at him, Donna closed the physical ones. Instead of the beige room, however, she was presented with a mental image of the room she was already in. _What’s going on?_

The Doctor had the air of someone giving a slide show. _This is what I saw. Advancing a few nanospans so you can see the difference._

 _See the what?_ Donna looked at the mental image. The room was identical to the one she was in, but in more colours somehow—more than that, she couldn’t describe. _What am I supposed to be looking at?_

His hands closed around hers, raising them. _Here._

Her hands landed on something and with a bizarre sense of trying to hear colours, the image _shifted_. For a moment, for a single moment, Donna _saw_.

She was outlined in something best approximated as gold. The other humans were shades of bronze, similar to her but duller. The furniture in the room and the walls were matte black. Two of the Monans were in gold-tinged blue— _Time sensitive species I-we helped build,_ the Doctor explained, pronouns and tenses muddled. _But not Gallifreyan._ And the other three Monans—

Donna opened her physical eyes, shuddering. To her human senses, they looked the same as the others, but she knew now, she couldn’t unknow it—the way they had no timelines, the way they were disturbingly stark and absent and _not there_ and ripped away and chopped short and never there and she had impressions of them she had no words for and it was _wrong_.

 _Precisely_ , the Doctor said, settling back down. _They have no timelines._

She frowned, comparing the new mental imagery against what she could see. _One of the—affected ones is the one not talking._

The Other shifted, bringing with them the sense of age and despair and darkness. _That is what worries_ me _. Ones such as these do not usually let the timelines be._

_And what worries you, spaceman?_

The Doctor mentally shook his head. _All of that. They’re odd and I don’t like odd—_

Donna had to laugh, managing to keep it locked inside. _You? You’re first in line!_

The Other snorted. _They have something planned, especially that silent one. Be wary, Donna._

 _Thank you_ , she whispered as they sank back into the dark. Blinking a few times, she oriented herself again just in time for the room to explode.

She shrieked, but she wasn’t the only one—Rose was too. The Doctor flared in her mind, carrying with him the impression of fire and victory and life-from-death. _Can I?_ he asked quickly.

Donna turned all control over to him, mentally throwing herself backwards.

Her body dived for the floor, taking Rose with her. She hit on the side of her shoulder with a thud, rolling to cover Rose. The Doctor had a better idea of her body’s limits than she did, shifting her legs to brace herself against a chair. _Mind if I—_

 _If it keeps us alive, do whatever you flipping want_ , Donna interjected, keeping as far away from the motor cortex as she could.

He gave her a demented worrying grin and twisted her head to look around.

The room was on fire, or it seemed to be. The table certainly was, hot orange flames rising up eagerly from it, already engulfing two chairs and a Monan—one of the ones without timelines. Rose shrieked in her ear, trying to twist away. Donna’s arms straightened, giving them a better view.

There was a shattered bomb casing on the middle of the table but it seemed to have burst into flames more than exploded. The entire end of the table was on fire, and smoke filled the room. The Monans with timelines were pressed against the wall, howling both aloud and telepathically.

_What are you up to?_

_I’ve done this before,_ the Doctor explained vaguely, shoving Rose under the table.

The Other surged out of their corner, tentacles wrapping around Donna and pulling her back. _Don’t look,_ they roared.

She twisted in their grasp, trying to see what the Doctor was doing with her body. _What—why? Look, let me go!_

 _Normally I would_ _but you said we could keep you alive, and we are_ trying _. Please let us._ Their tentacles loosened slightly, enough that she could get free if she wanted.

Donna shivered, remaining where she was. _What’s he doing?_

The Other radiated pride. _What they were Loomed to do. Now don’t look_.

She was cut off from most senses, everything real dulled, and she could _still_ hear screams, still feel something twisting several degrees too far, smell smoke and ash and dust.

The Doctor expanded in her mind, becoming formless and all-encompassing and far more like the Other than she had ever seen. For a split second she felt _nothing_ , neither physically nor mentally, and then she was thrown back in charge, the Doctor retreating rapidly.

 _Your turn_ , he said wearily, curling up into a ball.

The room was changed. All three Monans without timelines were gone and the fire was out. Donna blinked, looking around. The four humans seemed to be safe and alive, although Martha was unconscious and Rose would have a nice bruise on her arm. Mickey grabbed Martha and swung her gently into a fireman’s carry.

Sarah Jane looked around. “What was that?” Her eyes rested on Donna.

“Good flipping question,” Donna muttered, mentally prodding the Doctor, who refused to move. “A side effect of the metacrisis,” she said louder.

Eyebrow raised doubtfully, Sarah Jane nodded. “Fine. I think negotiations have fallen through, don’t you?”

Rose snorted, rubbing her elbow. “Yeah. Donna, why—you don’t know, do you?” Her gaze was hostile and doubtful.

Donna glanced away. “Yeah.” Her voice sounded weak even to her.

“Let’s go.” Sarah Jane led the way to the door.

The remaining two Monans were in quivering balls on the floor. The Other examined them through Donna’s eyes. _They couldn’t protect everyone,_ they said faintly. _Particularly not ones who are telepathic, and at such short range_.

“Where are we going?” Mickey asked, shifting Martha’s weight slightly.

Donna sighed. “We can’t go back to the room, they’ll be expecting that.”

Sarah Jane looked around the group. “We should return to the Collection. Negotiations have failed, the Monan Host certainly won’t be aiding us now. The Gallifreyans should know as soon as we can tell them.”

 _No_ , the Doctor said, sounding offended and perking up. _Where’s her sense of curiosity? We have to stay and find out who did it._

 _Speaking of which,_ Donna pointed out, prodding him.

The Doctor shifted. _I’ll explain later._

The Other smirked. _No they won’t. But_ I _will._

 _Meanie,_ the Doctor said, slinking back into his corner.

Donna returned her attention to Sarah Jane. “We should find out what happened. What the Monans are actually up to.”

The other woman sighed. “Probably. If anyone wants to go back-?”

Rose and Mickey shook their heads; Martha was still unconscious.

“Time to investigate,” Sarah Jane said with a smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. "Gallifrey currently exists," the other corrected. "Many alternate timelines, remember? We're in a past alternate timeline again, we're in the War."↩
> 
> 2\. Secelzur: Death and regeneration of a self in the same worldline but different time line. ↩


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more, this won't be back until at least June because the next section (A Desolation Called Peace, with Ian, Barbara, Vicki, Dodo, and Molly) isn't even started yet. Sorry!

They shouldn’t have been very good at sneaking. They were all too human, and they smelled strongly of smoke from—whatever it was that had actually happened.

 _They fiddled with the timelines,_ the Other explained lazily as Donna walked down a corridor, a tentacle drifting back and forth. _Very tricky, do not attempt at home, et cetera—_

 _Where did you pick up human slang_? Donna asked, frowning. The corridors were empty, which she was fairly sure was not the way things were supposed to be.

The Other jabbed a tentacle in the Doctor’s mental direction. _Them._ Returning to their original topic, they said, _but this is the Last Great Time War—_

 _Not anymore,_ the Doctor put in, now projecting a smooth ball. _As you keep reminding me._

 _Yes, not anymore, but it was. The version we lived through was._ The Other’s tone had a definite sense of exasperation to it.

 _‘Lived’,_ the Doctor said, the quotes dropping in with a sense of finality.

The Other ignored him. _This is the Last Great Time War, and there are no rules. Any disaster they created by their actions back there cannot be lesser than others committed all over the War. There is fighting on a scale even your adapted mind cannot understand, although you have the memories for it. Every action has consequences, which is why they do not adjust timelines very often. In this instance, however—_

 _It made logical sense,_ the Doctor grumbled. _That doesn’t make it right._

The Other rolled their eyes. _Your ideas of morality and mine are very different. We survived. Your pets survived. You don’t see any of them protesting._

 _If they didn’t survive, they couldn’t protest!_ the Doctor roared, nearly lashing out.

 _Hypocrite_ , the Other said, prodding him with the tip of one tentacle. _You’re not allowed to whine about killing them, you_ knew _the price._

Donna ignored them. It wasn’t the first time they had begun yelling about morals, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Of more interest—the corridors were still empty but increasingly more ornate.

“Where is everyone?” Rose asked the next time they came to an intersection.

Sarah Jane sighed, checking both directions before picking left. “Good question.”

“Next question,” Mickey said with a grin.

Martha groaned, starting to wake up. “What’s—” She stopped, blinking fuzzily.

 _Whoops_. The Doctor sounded abashed. _I think she got caught in the backwash._

Donna mentally glared at him for not protecting everyone and went to help Micky get Martha on her feet. “There was an explosion.”

“Oh.” She rubbed her eyes, sighing. “Everyone else alright?”

Sarah Jane nodded. “We’re all fine. Just you.”

“Look out!” Rose shouted, voice cracking.

Donna got in front of Martha, still wobbly, as did Mickey. He had his staser pulled and Donna considered doing the same.

A Monan crept around the corner, frills quivering. “Don’t shoot one!”

Mickey lowered his staser. “I think we found them.”

“One is not a threat!” the Monan squeaked, eyes—four of them—wide and sclera peeled back to expose the whole pupil.

Sarah Jane stepped forward, hands out and palms flat. “It’s okay. We’re not going to hurt you. We’re just a little jumpy, that’s all.”

 _Is it—does it have a timeline?_ Donna asked quietly.

The Other shifted, looking through her eyes briefly. _Yes._

 _Thank you_. She returned her attention to the others.

The Monan was rocking back and forth, frills tucked flat against his neck. “One worries, one does, one worries because one has found life so unsafe, one wonders if one might ask are one and one’s companions Daleks?” He looked up at Sarah Jane, sclera flicking open and shut.

Sarah Jane blinked. “No. No, of _course_ not. Has that been a problem?”

He made a little jerky motion with his head. “Yes, yes, one finds many of one’s former acquaintances to now be Daleks.”

“Bit of an unpleasant surprise,” Rose said, a sad, twisted smile on her face.

The Monan turned to look at her, tilting his head to expose the vulnerable side of his neck. “Yes, one found it so.”

“ _Why_ are some Monans Daleks?” Sarah Jane asked slowly.

His sclera fluttered, a sign of stress. “One’s superiors requested it so.”

Martha stared at it. “ _What_.”

He began whining, short high pitched noises that seemed to come without conscious control. “Honoured ones, it was not this one’s decision! Please, one begs these ones, do not harm this one! This one was unaware of the decision!”

Sarah Jane stepped forward. “I told you, we’re not going to hurt you. We’re just trying to find out what happened. Why did your superiors invite the Daleks in?”

“One’s planet was being threatened by the aliens. One understands that one’s superiors chose survival over allying with Gallifrey.”

Both the Doctor and the Other chuckled darkly at that. _They reaped what they sowed—spend millennia being untrustworthy,_ the Doctor commented, _and then when you most need aid, no one will come._

Martha coughed quietly. “Are you injured?”

The Monan looked at her, frills pressed flat. “No. No, no, no. One is not injured.”

Sarah Jane bent down to his height. “So you sided with the Daleks.”

“Yes, one is sorry, one did not mean-!”

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “I don’t need the apologies. I just want to know what’s going on.”

He flushed a darker blue and glanced away.

“You sided with the Daleks. Invited them on. But what I don’t understand is why they felt the need to disguise themselves.” Sarah Jane frowned, tucking hair behind one ear.

The Monan blinked rapidly. “Spies, one thinks. One believes the Daleks were disguised in an attempt to discover whether one’s people were trustworthy.”

Martha sighed. “Or to act as plants—waiting for the moment to overthrow your people.”

“Frankly, _probably_ as plants,” Sarah Jane said, straightening. “Was there anything to distinguish the Daleks from true Monans?”

The Monan began whimpering again, pulling away and jerking his head from side to side. “They were _wrong_.”

Donna had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. “They didn’t have timelines, did they,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

In his corner, the Doctor sighed. _Yes, they were Daleks. I was hoping—_

 _You were an idiot_ , the Other said acerbically. _You should have just told her, emotional strife or no. She needed that information._

Donna mentally poked the Doctor, and tried to poke the Other, who shifted their position and smirked at her. _So you knew._

The Doctor sighed. _Yes. I knew as soon as the room exploded. That particular trick was one they always were fond of._

_And you didn’t tell me—why?_

He shifted. _I thought it was best that you work it out on your own—_

Donna snarled at him. _You thought it_ best _, you should have just_ told _me, we might have—_

 _Might have what?_ the Doctor sent back. _How would me telling you have changed_ anything _? The Monan would still be here, you would still be interrogating him, it would have given you warning but it wouldn’t have been enough for you to do anything with it._

 _It was the right thing to do!_ Donna shouted. _Because we’re working together, alright? You’re in my head and we’re supposed to be sharing memories, and I deserve to know what you’ve found out._

The Doctor shrank. _I’ll try_ , he said quietly.

Donna blinked, shifting her focus.

“How can anything not have a timeline?” Martha was saying. “Even a Dalek.”

Sarah Jane shook her head. “That doesn’t matter now. We should go back to the Collection.”

Donna knew enough to know that Sarah Jane was lying; in the back of her head, the Doctor snickered, confirming it. _She doesn’t mean that._

Rose snorted. “We’ve got guns. We’ve got guns that’ll kill Daleks, apparently. Why can’t we take them on?”

“Sanity?” Mickey threw out, in the tone of voice that meant he didn’t really believe it either.

Sarah Jane sighed. “Does anyone _actually_ want to leave?”

The group exchanged glances.

 _In the name of self-preservation, I feel like I should be voting for departure,_ the Other drawled, _but since there’s another me elsewhere, perfectly safe, I don’t feel like it._

“No,” Donna said, trying not to laugh. “I don’t think any of us do.” She gestured vaguely at her head, with a glance at Sarah Jane, who nodded.

Martha gave them all a despairing look. “I really don’t think this is the way sane conversations are supposed to go.”

Sarah Jane smiled. “Probably not. Come on. Let’s see if we can do something about the Daleks.”

* * *

 

They made their way down the corridor, trailed by the Monan who kept twitching nervously. The hallways were large and opulent, decorated in styles that almost but not quite made sense to Donna’s eyes. The Doctor and the Other both remained tense in her mind, occasionally shifting with a flash of darkness and anger.

Martha, Mickey, and Rose had stasers out—Sarah Jane seemed to have forgotten she had one, and Donna wasn’t sure how to shoot the thing. The thought prompted the Doctor to try and teach her, using examples from their shared memory. She wasn’t sure she _wanted_ to know how, either.

The hallways continued being empty. The Monan explained eventually that most of his people were either dead or wiped from history, and that the Daleks were trying to take control of the Host technology.

Donna had to poke around in their memories to figure out _why_ : The Monan Host had time travel independent of the Time Lord controlled Vortex, and the Daleks wanted it. More than that, their method of travel, which had to do with probabilities—ironically how the Time Lords fought, but not how they travelled—had some advantages the Vortex didn’t, and the Daleks needed those. They were losing at this point, according to the Doctor’s memories, although admittedly he didn’t remember Gallifrey tracking down and recruiting all of his companions.

She talked about this with Sarah Jane, who just shrugged and said there was little they could do about that. If they could keep the Daleks from getting control of the Monan ships, that was great, but it certainly wasn’t likely. Their best bet was to delay them.

Mickey rounded a corner and stopped dead, taking a hasty step backwards. “Dalek.”

The Doctor snarled in her mind, sweeping over her thoughts in a rush of wind and steel and fire, upset that his enemy was here, now, in front of him, and ready to do anything he could to stop them. She shoved him back, holding onto control. _Not while you’re this ticked, you don’t,_ she told him.

He glared at her but didn’t push it, subsiding.

Sarah Jane stiffened. “Here we go. Mickey, you’re on point.”

He nodded.

The Dalek rattled around the corner, casing battered but still identifiably black.

 _Renegade Dalek_ , the Doctor spat. _One of the Supreme Dalek’s._

She mentally raised an eyebrow. _As opposed to?_

 _Imperial Daleks. The ones still loyal to Davros. Or, the ones with a renewed loyalty to Davros. Since there’s been a lot of switching._ The Doctor made a face, still bleeding anger and distress.

“HALT,” the Dalek roared, stopping itself and pointing both eyestalk and gun at them. “YOU WILL IDENTIFY YOURSELVES.”

Sarah Jane shivered, stepping forward. “We are a diplomatic delegation, here under a flag of neutrality. We only want to leave.”

The Dalek paused. “THERE ARE NO NEUTRAL FORCES IN THE WAR,” it shrieked, gun stalk waggling up and down. “THERE ARE DALEKS AND THERE ARE NON DALEKS. ALL NON DALEK BEINGS ARE TO BE EXTERMINATED.”

“Fire, Mickey,” Sarah Jane said coldly.

Mickey didn’t hesitate, pulling the trigger on the staser immediately. A bolt of energy shot out, striking the Dalek dead centre. The cyborg _screamed_ , spinning. It was horrible, a rabbit screech that went on and on and on. Finally it cut off and the Dalek sat there, smoking.

Rose frowned. “It doesn’t look like a Dalek. Well it sort of does, but it’s—different.”

“They—not evolve—more adapt.” Sarah Jane kept her eyes fixed on the thing, as if expecting it to start moving at any minute. “Keep producing more, and bigger, and better. They want to be the best and the only, and that means always advancing. The ones you met, Rose, were more advanced than this one. Those ones were at the end of the Time War. This one is from very early, I suspect.”

The Doctor agreed. _The Dalek civil war was resolved—well, ‘early’ in the War, inasmuch as the Time War_ had _—_

 _Has_ , the Other corrected.

 _Had an early,_ the Doctor finished, glaring at the Other. _Which would make sense, because everything so far has been very linear and comprehensible._

Donna frowned. _It wasn’t, later?_

The Other turned a blank, dead gaze on her, manifesting briefly. _I left,_ they said. _That was how bad it got. I left._

 _Oh,_ she sent, swallowing.

Martha coughed. “More of them.”

Donna’s eyes snapped into focus. Another Dalek rattled around the corner, radiation bleed units flashing in distress. “ALERT! ALERT! INVADERS ARE SIGHTED!”

The Doctor gave a nasty grin and then froze, mind roiling. _No._

A second Dalek followed the first; it clanked but didn’t speak.

 _A hivemind,_ the Doctor whispered, fear scratching from his corner. He and the Other both flared and vanished, gone from her mind. Donna gasped.

“Something wrong?” Rose asked softly.

Donna shook her head, silent. Her head was empty, it wasn’t just that they weren’t speaking, they were actively _missing_ , and there were no holes they could be hiding in. “Sarah Jane,” she whispered, trying not to panic. Their memories were still there but they were gone and her head was empty and _silent_ , it was never supposed to be silent, it was wrong wrong wrong, she could remember the moments before she fell unconscious the first time and the way she babbled, it felt like that now, there was too much information and only now did she realize that the Doctor and the Other had been holding it back from her, because without them it was all _right there_ and she could see all of it—

Sarah Jane’s hand was on her shoulder, squeezing hard. “Deep breaths, Donna.”

She took one, and then another, and then a third. A Dalek screamed and she almost understood it, staring blankly in its direction. Mickey had his staser out again.

“ _Breathe_ ,” Sarah Jane snapped, and the tone shocked her into gasping in.

Donna shivered, brain trying to catalogue everything. When she next blinked, Martha was standing in front of her, trying to stare into her eyes.

“Something’s wrong with her,” Martha said, frowning.

Sarah Jane very nearly snarled, Donna could tell by the way her jaw clenched and she blinked several times. “Rose, just shoot them!”

There was another scream and she strained to translate the vibrations but was distracted by a firm hand on her jaw. “Look at me.” Martha’s eyes met hers. “Sarah Jane, we need to get her back. The mission’s a wreck regardless.”

Donna pulled away. “They’re screaming,” she said quietly.

Another Dalek howled and she jerked towards it, wanting to _know_.

“Rose! Mickey!” Sarah Jane’s voice was harsh and strained; Donna frowned at her, eyes out of focus.

She was losing her sanity and her life, she knew that, there was too much in her head for a human to handle, all vaNarvinectralonumuliaʃthicelestimas had done was give her an extension, once the Doctor woke she was lost, she _knew that too_ because she knew everything, she had all of the Doctor’s memories and none of his yovhas their skills there were too many words in her head and she couldn’t keep them all straight she—

The world vanished.

* * *

 

“You brought a _Dalek_ , you _moronic_ bureaucrat.”

“You killed it.”

“I told you, those stasers only have so much charge—”

“Then recharge it.”

Martha rolled over on the floor and tried not to retch. “Narvin,” she gasped, stomach heaving. That concussion—not quite, because she hadn’t hit her head, although it otherwise felt like one—was doing her no favours now.

“Oh look, it speaks,” Narvin drawled. “Did you at least accomplish your task?”

She tried not to glare at him, only succeeding because it hurt too much to move. Sprawled on the floor, she blinked at the plain concrete, trying to sort the words. “She’s dying.”

Narvin sounded like he was about to start talking but the other speaker coughed. “We know, Miss Jones. It’s just you and Miss Noble now. I redirected the others to a safe room.”

“You should have sent them off planet,” Narvin hissed.

Martha managed to shove herself onto her elbows, head screaming. “Donna,” she bit out. “She’s dying, you have to get the Doc—a Time Lord or something, whatever they did before is failed, it looks just the same.” It was hard to speak, harder to understand, they weren’t _acting_ Donna was dying again, and this _wasn’t allowed to happen_.

Someone held a finger in front of her face. She blinked at it hazily. “Miss Jones, what happened to you?”

She blinked at them, snorting. “Good question.”

They sighed. “Make an attempt, at least. You landed, and then?”

“It all went to hell,” Martha said bluntly. She rubbed at her eyes. “I’ve got a—” One hand checked her pockets. “Damn medpack. I have a medpack,” she said in explanation, trying to look up at whoever was in front of her. “Should help with this concussion.”

The person put a hand on hers, keeping it gently away from her pockets. “It isn’t a concussion.”

Martha shrugged, finding the medpack in a pocket and pulling it out blindly. “It’s close enough and the hypo for a concussion can’t—”

“Braxiatel, she needs the President,” Narvin said, stepping over.

The room fell silent for a moment, then the other—Braxiatel, she remembered now—sighed again. “I believe Miss Jones has a temporal concussion. If you would fix that, I will call the President.”

In an instant there was a pair of cool fingers on her forehead. “Hold still,” Narvin snapped, and then her mind shifted slightly. He was suddenly _there_ in a way she had never experienced before, his touch steady and unsubtle. Still he worked quickly, every move lessening the pain and confusion, and within seconds he was gone again.

“Madam President,” Braxiatel was saying into a small black ball by the time Martha was able to sit up. “I could use a data extractor in Narvin’s office.” There was a pause. “I understand you wanted us to send them back to their timelines, but this group does not _have_ a timeline any more.” Another pause. “Romana, there is a person _dying_ on the floor who could possibly be saved if you got down here in time, I do not have the time to apologize!” He set the ball on Narvin’s desk.

Narvin stood up, straightening his robes. “Now what?”

Martha stood up, blinking. “Someone want to explain?”

“No.” Braxiatel looked at Narvin. “Anytime you wish to come up with a suitable lie, I will be _thrilled_ to hear it.”

The door swung open. “ _Now_ what, Braxiatel, I only have forty odd aliens to collect—” The voice cut to a halt. “How long has she been unconscious?” The woman was tall, with pale blond hair and wearing gold and white robes.

“Since we left the Monan world,” Martha said, frowning. “Who are you?”

Narvin noticeably straightened. “Lady President Romanadvoratrelundar of Gallifrey.”

“Romana, please,” the woman in question said, kneeling beside Donna. “Narvin, why is Miss Jones here?”

“Temporal concussion. I’ve dealt with it.”

Martha looked at him, interested. “What’s that and how did you deal with it?”

Narvin glanced at Romana, who nodded. “You were caught in temporal backlash of some sort. What this means is that you suddenly had a head full of artron energy—beneficial in small doses, but extraordinarily harmful in large ones. The effects built off each other, reverberating around your skull until the paradoxes become lethal. I—”

“He absorbed the artron energy and helped to rest your brain,” Braxiatel put in smoothly, almost looking amused.

Martha blinked at Narvin, who was determinedly avoiding eye contact with anyone. “And that won’t harm him?”

“Gallifreyans have a higher tolerance for artron energy than—other species,” Narvin said stiffly.

“Essentially.” Braxiatel shrugged. “It is a little more complicated than that, but that works well enough.”

Romana cleared her throat. “Braxiatel, what’s wrong with Miss Noble?”

Braxiatel moved over to crouch beside his President, face bland. “As far as I can tell, she caught the backlash from the Doctor’s biological two way metacrisis.”

Romana looked at him.

“A—regeneration accident, my lady.” For a second, Braxiatel nearly sounded confused, but Martha must have misheard. He didn’t seem the type to _ever_ be confused.

Romana made a quiet noise in response, and pulled a small box from her pocket. “I will do my best to save both of them—”

Braxiatel raised his head, stiffening even as he continued to crouch.

“—but I cannot guarantee anything. Explain to Miss Jones what I’m doing, please,” Romana finished, apparently unaware that Braxiatel had reacted to something.

Standing, Braxiatel turned his attention to Martha. “As best I understand the situation, the Lady President is going to attempt to separate the hangers-on in Donna’s head from her base personality, and then move them off into the APC Net.”

“Good enough,” Romana said. She was bending over Donna’s body, the grey box held next to the human’s head. Her other hand was pressed to Donna’s forehead.

The box suddenly made a zapping noise and Romana jumped back, dropping it. Donna’s head glowed golden for a second, and then the box dinged and the gold vanished. “Braxiatel, where’s the nearest Matrix—ah.”

Braxiatel nodded. “I have technicians working on it right now. They have occupied a ballroom and are currently attempting to reinstate the Matrix, but until then—” He held out his hands.

“Miss Jones, Donna should wake up at any—”

On the floor, Donna gasped in a breath and arched up, muscles tensing. “Romana,” Narvin barked, dropping to his knees beside her. “Trouble.”

Romana joined him, robes pooling around her. “Really,” she said, voice dry. “Chancellor, any ideas?”

Braxiatel looked down, shaking his head. “I’m afraid not, my lady.”

Donna screamed and Martha jerked forward, desperate to help. The ginger went ramrod straight, muscles clamping up. Her head jerked back, mouth falling open.

Narvin muttered something unintelligible and clamped his hands to Donna’s temples. The pair screamed in unison, making everyone in the room jump, and then the air between them exploded in golden shimmers. Donna collapsed back on the floor at the same instant as Narvin pulled away, glowering.

“We’ve lost her,” Braxiatel said quietly.

Martha swallowed, beginning to shake. “She’s—”

Narvin made a noise that might have been intended as comfort.

The door burst open, and Martha turned to look. The woman who stood there looked nothing like a Time Lord; she was wearing a short leather tunic and carrying a knife. “Narvin!”

Narvin’s head jerked up. “Leela?”

“Go back to your room,” Romana said coldly. “The situation is too delicate.”

Leela stalked forward, eyes bright and harsh. “No. I do not follow your orders.”

Romana gave her an admonishing glare. “Leela, listen to me.”

Leela snarled. “You are _not_ Romana.”

Narvin frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that she is acting wrong, she is moving wrong, her _scent_ is wrong, Narvin please believe me, this is not Romana.” Leela stepped towards—the woman who might have been Romana, raising her knife.

There was a blur of motion, and events happened so fast Martha was only able to piece the order together afterwards: Romana turned towards Leela, something obscene erupting from her forehead, Narvin pulled a staser, Brax had it from his hands before anyone could react, there was a crackling noise, a thud, and the room fell silent.

Narvin and Braxiatel shared a long steady glare. On the floor, Romana stared up at the ceiling, a Dalek eyestalk bulging out of her forehead.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to mylordshesacactus and dromeianindistress for betaing. Also thanks to the entire morpheme salad crew, but mostly patrexes, for helping with the Gallifreyan words and grammar.
> 
> Story title is from H. P. Lovecraft's "Nyarlathotep": "He spoke much of the sciences of electricity and psychology and gave exhibitions of power which sent his spectators away speechless, yet which swelled his fame to exceeding magnitude. Men advised one another to see Nyarlathotep, and shuddered. And where Nyarlathotep went, rest vanished, for the small hours were rent with the screams of nightmare."


End file.
